


the missing piece

by SilverRollu



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Canon - Manga, Gen, Manga Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 02:26:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3552557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverRollu/pseuds/SilverRollu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post GX manga fic;</p><p>Remember those who are gone fondly— the things they taught, the things they've shared, and the strength they lent you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the missing piece

**Author's Note:**

> I guess this wouldn't particularly make sense unless you know what [happened at the end](http://yugioh.wikia.com/wiki/Yu-Gi-Oh!_GX_-_Chapter_064) of the manga, but...  
> Inspired by [this post:](http://alloftheprompts.tumblr.com/post/98382185812/send-me-a-character-a-color)
> 
> Cattleya: flame-red; _the smell of smoke and the heat of the fire_

At a typical tournament the duelists were to enter the arena from opposite ends. Judai didn’t seem to understand this concept, Manjoume finds, as he watches his former classmate saunter up to him while waiting for the previous match to wrap up. Judai comes to a stop right beside him, and grins.

“Hey, Manjoume!”

“You’re on the wrong side.”

Judai’s smile only seems to grow at hearing that crude tone of voice. “You never change, huh? Come on, it’s gonna be our first duel since we joined the Pro Leagues— you excited?”

Manjoume, hands folded tightly against his chest, snorts. “Why? I already know I’m going to win this one.” 

“Now that’s what I’m talking about! That’s the spirit.” Judai claps a hand against Manjoume’s back. It’s quick, and it doesn’t hurt, but the friendly gesture itself is enough to rattle his being. 

They fall into a short, comfortable silence, for a while just watching through the doors ahead as the current duel is still commencing. Manjoume hazards a glance to his companion, only to see him grasping his deck tightly, fingers running over the edges of his deck-box idly. Judai’s eyes are facing forward, but for a moment Manjoume wonders if he’s even _seeing_ — his lips are tight and Manjoume realizes that he could watch Judai cry and it wouldn’t bother him in the least. 

“I still think about it sometimes,” Judai says, and his voice, while not soft, is resigned. Manjoume turns to face him completely at this point, his interest piqued and a small chill sneaking up spine. “I miss dueling with him. And sometimes I just think, ‘man, I wish he were here,’ you know?” 

Judai doesn’t look at him, and Manjoume doesn’t need him to. Judai only has to understand that Manjoume _knows and understands_ , so there’s no need for looks. He almost feels as though he should avert his gaze from the other man too, but it’s this strange curiosity that keeps his eyes trained to Judai. From the red of his jacket — still wearing the Duel Academia’s uniform, like an idiot— to the red of his deck-box, to the glow of his pale fingers, clenched tight, pink. 

“Do you,” And Judai actually turns to him this time, “ever feel that way too?” 

Manjoume doesn’t miss the lack of names in Judai’s speech. A name is painfully powerful; perhaps the simple act of saying it hurt more than the memories, than the missing piece. 

He inhales through his nose and nods. “I used to duel in tournaments with—” _no names, no names_ , “— _him_ before, when I was younger. So it’s… strange.” Uncomfortable. 

It’s been years but talking about their previous duel spirits still stung, like salt on open wounds.

“Mm.” Judai takes in the answer with a nod and looks down to his deck-box, still touching the creases and dents of it, stopping just short of opening it. Fingers still tight. 

“But I don’t let it get to me. Because he’s still with me.” Manjoume bites the inside of his cheek at his wording. _Embarrassing_. Judai’s attention snaps at ‘with me,’ eyes wide. “He may not be here anymore, but I still remember what he taught me. And I carry that strength everywhere I go.” 

Judai blinks at him then smiles, and Manjoume wonders how long he was waiting to see that. The crowd outside cheers, and through the doorway they see the duelists beginning to exit the field. The one that heads their way, the apparent winner of the duel, smiles at them as he passes through, Judai offering him a thumbs up as he marches proudly. 

“I guess that means it’s our time up, huh?” 

Manjoume doesn’t say anything, cracks his neck and drops his arms to his sides. 

“Dont give me the silent treatment again!” Judai laughs, “Not after you went out of your way to cheer me up!”

“Shut up.” 

He watches Judai shuffle to put his deck-box back on his belt, and he holds his hand out to him. Outstretched, he can see the red grooves on his skin where he had been squeezing the object before. “May the best man win.” 

Manjoume squeezes his hand and lets it go when the announcer calls Judai’s name. He imagines the guy is probably looking at the other side of the arena, at the doorway that Judai is _actually_ supposed to be walking out of right now, and he finds it amusing.

Judai waves and walks out to the field, arms raised to wave at the excited but confused crowd. The cheers bleed into background noise, Manjoume watching Judai’s receding back— red, proud, and strong.


End file.
